The Beginning: Celeste's Side
by Tallis224
Summary: Forty years ago, Ducky met a girl who changed everything. This is her take on it. Prequel to "Ducks in a Row" Rated T for language, adult situations. Ducky/Original Female Character. No slash.


Summary: This is another prequel to "Ducks in a Row" and is the companion piece to "The Beginning: Ducky's Side." If you would like to get a more complete picture of the characters and relationship, you may want to read "Ducks in a Row" first, then return to the prequel stories.

The character Donald "Ducky" Mallard is not mine. Though I wish he was. On so many levels….

Het pairing: Ducky/Original Female Character

Rated T for language, adult situations.

Reviews and comments are welcomed.

The Beginning: Celeste's Side

by Tallis224

Yesterday was the last day I woke up not knowing him.

He is beautiful. And I shall marry him.

"He" is Doctor Donald Mallard. Affectionately called "Ducky." A sweet nickname, I think, and it suits him somehow.

He is blond and blue-eyed. Looks so much like Illya Kuryakin, whom I've had a crush on since I was twelve. And he's not tall. Not short, just not tall. I've fallen for someone who is not tall – a rather extraordinary thing given the guys I've always favored. Peter was six-foot-four, for heaven's sake. And Mike was about six feet tall. But I digress. As I often do…

Ducky is slim, compact. He looks so good in the white doctor's lab coat with the requisite stethoscope dangling casually from his neck. The lab coat is open, revealing that he has a sense of style…a blue shirt, not a white one, topping the usual black dress trousers – pants just a bit tighter and more stylish than the ones the rest of the staff are wearing. I find myself wishing he would ditch the lab coat and turn around so I can get the full effect.

But Daddy often says I should be careful what I wish for. Good Lutheran children should expect a certain amount of adversity in life in order to maintain the proper level of humility in the face of the Lord. A maxim oft repeated because I, his willful eldest child, Celeste Elizabeth Porter, usually get what I want. Not that Daddy has ever contributed to that outcome…

I am in the Emergency room of St Margaret Mercy Hospital in London. At midnight. We have crossed over the timeline to September 30, 1970. And Prince Charming stands at the threshold, introduces himself, clipboard in hand, and asks how I've managed to get myself here.

Chiefly because I live with idiots who _had_ to go out drinking tonight…

I suggested we see a play. There are lots of good ones and tickets are cheap. No dice. They wanted to "get a feel for the pub scene."

We haven't had much time for socializing since we got here. Ollie, my best friend since forever, has been at Luther College for a year and he, Ron and Viv became instant friends. When I graduated high school and started Luther a semester early, they just took me in like a stray puppy. In a nice way. And I like them – most of the time.

The work-study opportunity came up and the four of us jumped on it. All of us are English majors and though it's unusual to have sophomores and freshmen take the positions, the committee was sufficiently impressed with our credentials and independent work that they awarded us the scholarships over several other candidates. Dream come true for me!

So here we are in London, busting our butts every waking moment, either studying, attending classes or working. Until, finally, all four of us have simultaneous time off! Thus, consensus dictates that we try some "local flavor." So we go to a total of three pubs. The guys ask the locals questions about football. Ollie gets a very detailed (and crashingly boring) dissertation on cricket while Ron and Viv make it clear to one and all that they are a couple. And no fewer than four guys try picking me up – none of them worth a first, much less second, look. One goes so far as just setting a drink in front of me and expecting me to ask him to join me. To use the local vernacular – cheeky bastard!

None of this has served to improve my mood. It was dark before we started out. It is a positive black hole by the time we decide to leave. And now three of us are so drunk they can hardly walk home. And I'm so angry I don't even want to be seen with the clowns.

The cobblestone walkways and roads in London are notoriously uneven and hard to walk, even when one is sober. We decide to cut through the park to get to our street. My companions are doing an inordinate amount of stumbling and I'm secretly very satisfied (and vindicated) when Ollie and Ron bump into each other during a particularly loud and slightly off-key rendition of "With a Little Help From My Friends." They go careening into Viv and Ollie ends up on his well-padded ass.

I turn around and walk backwards, laughing. "See what you get, you morons!" A split second later I'm losing my balance and tottering between the cobblestones and the grassy lawn about three inches below. I'm not able to recover and I topple over, feel my ankle fold over, feel a "POP" reverberate throughout my body.

I'm down, smelling earth and grass and fallen leaves, listening to three assholes laugh at me.

I sit up, but I can't actually get back to my feet. My right ankle begins to inflate. I take off my shoes, the cutest little pair of sandals ever, tooled leather with a little toe-loop and little straps that buckle around the ankle. That's not going to help me now. And neither, it seems, are the braying jackasses whose company I'm keeping.

And it hurts! Holy God it hurts! I collapse to the ground again, in tears of pain and fury. "I'm hurt, you fucking idiots!" Whoa! I never, ever used _that_ word before. EVER! Hardly ever thought it, even. And it just spews out of my mouth as naturally as "good morning."

It serves the purpose of sobering them up for a moment, however.

"Celeste?" Viv is the first one there, crouching next to me, helping me sit up. "What happened? Are you okay?" She looks shaken. "Guys, get over here! Celeste is hurt!"

Ollie hauls himself up off the walkway and Ron is at Viv's side in a heartbeat. "Celeste! What happened?" Ron asks, looking concerned.

"My ankle. I twisted it. I know I can't walk."

"We better get you to a hospital!" Ron decides to take charge, which he is usually pretty good at. "Ollie, flag down a taxi."

"Ummm. Do we have the money for that?" Ollie, ever practical, even in drunkenness, has to ask.

"We'll pool our cash."

Ollie gets a cab and has it wait while he comes back to help Ron lift me into a two-man carry.

" Vivvie, grab her shoes and purse." Ron instructs.

The cab gets us to St Margaret Mercy in about three minutes. They pool their money and are a pound short for the fare.

I sigh. "Viv. I should have a one pound notes in my wallet. Pull them out." She does and hands it to the driver.

Great. Now I'm broke for two weeks, until my next paycheck.

The others find this tremendously amusing and they continue giggling as the nurse on desk duty takes my information and has another nurse take me to an examination room to wait for the attending physician.

Who ends up being the delectable Doctor Donald Mallard.

Ducky looks me over. Not my ankle which is propped up, packed in ice and obviously injured. Oh, he glances at it in passing. But he's not that interested. His eyes are drawn immediately to my chest. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars. What I'm wearing is virtually identical to what Vivian has on. But it's _my_ chest getting the examination.

Then he looks into my eyes. And the world lurches to a halt. His eyes are lake-blue. Like Lake Huron on a cloudless summer day. And I've fallen into them to drown.

I wonder how old he is. He has to be at least ten years older than me to be through medical school and practicing medicine. He might be a resident, but that still would be about eight or nine years older. He looks a little tired but has a very nice smile. I think he might have been recently in the military, too, because his hair is growing out – the bangs are long, but the sides are shorter – like they have some catching up to do.

And he has a beautiful voice that I could listen to forever. Accented in the very aristocratic tone that we have come to understand is "proper" English, not the more casual accents we hear when we are out and about in the shops and pubs. His face is decidedly aristocratic with a high forehead that could only indicate intelligence and quick wit. It doesn't hurt that he looks like Illya Kuryakin, either.

He must be perfect.

My housemates are much amused by my predicament. They continue making fools of themselves until I beg the good doctor to have them removed.

They are sent away to wait elsewhere and Doctor Ducky asks if he might examine the ankle.

I give my consent and he lifts it from the icepacks. I wish the ankle hadn't been so numbed from the cold, because I would like to feel the full effect of his touch. He moves my foot around slowly, assessing all the while. He asks me to wiggle my toes, which I do. He turns my foot to the left. And I draw in my breath quite sharply because it hurts!

I'm startled and still not over being angry about the situation I'm in. He apologizes, but I snap out an insult. "Nice going, Hippocrates! Doesn't your oath say something about 'doing no harm?'"

Instead of another apology, I get: "Doing no harm, yes. Causing no pain, no."

Not what I expect. Then I think some more and realize that pain can be used as a diagnostic tool. If it hurts when something is stimulated in a certain way, it can tell the doctor all sorts of things. I sit back and watch him continue the examination.

He asks if I am interested in medicine. I tell him no, that I'm studying English Lit, that I made myself a promise many years ago that I would study abroad, even over Daddy's objections. How I managed to win Daddy over by ultimately dazzling him with logic.

Ducky seems quite pleased by that. He then says something that really surprises me: "I can see how you might dazzle someone."

I feel the warmth of blood rushing to my face. I wish I didn't blush so easily. How can you answer something like that?

Then it dawns – Ducky is flirting with me! Holy crap, I've got a doctor flirting with me! Should doctors even _make_ comments like that to patients? Does he even know that I'm eighteen? Does he have any idea that I think he is the most gorgeous creature God has ever placed on His earth?

Can he tell I'm still a virgin?

He gets all professional again, says that he wants to see an x-ray before he makes a final pronouncement, but he's pretty sure it's a very bad sprain. He wonders what happened.

"I made a critical misstep, it seems." The pun comes to me unbidden, as they usually do. So I smile to take the edge off – and get lost in those beautiful blue eyes again.

Ducky shakes his head as if he is distracted, then chuckles, clears his throat. Glancing at my chart again he states, "You fell off a sidewalk. Onto a lawn? How did you manage that?"

"I was distracted. I was yelling at Ron and Ollie at the time."

"Really? Why?"

"For not watching where they were going." I feel the complete idiot.

In the space of seconds he looks quite surprised, then grins and finally bursts into laughter. And he's right of course. It's funny. Really funny. I start laughing, too. And each time one of us catches a breath and looks at the other one, we start laughing all over again.

I love being lost in his laughter.

We are gasping for air, but the good Doctor Mallard must get to the task at hand. He wants me to get up to x-ray so we can get the pictures he needs for his diagnosis.

But this "Miss Porter" business is starting to get to me. I want him to – I NEED to hear him say my name. My given name. In his wonderful voice, his beautiful accent. I want to hear him talk to me and only me, not some generic patient.

Doctor Barker back home has always called me Celeste. So I ask Doctor Ducky if he wouldn't mind doing the same.

And he does! He calls me Celeste! Then he tells me his given name – Donald – and how he came to have the nickname Ducky.

"I was in the Army Medical Corps and assigned to an American field hospital in Viet Nam. The personnel made word association – Donald Mallard to Donald Duck to Ducky. They thought it was funny. I do too, actually." He smiles a satisfied smile.

But it was just last summer when the two uniformed officers came to Mrs. Brunner's door with the terrible, terrible news about Peter. Mr. ROTC, engineer brain, MIT boy, that very good Lutheran boy. He had been killed by a sniper as he was traveling with the Corps of Engineers. They were on their way to reconstruct a school, supposedly well away from guerilla activity. Peter, the one my parents picked out for me when I was twelve and he eighteen and ready to go off to college. Every memory I ever had of Peter flooded back, including the last one eighteen months ago – him kissing me soundly and saying "When I get back, Celeste, we'll talk. Oh, yes, Little One, we'll talk."

But he never came back. I was left wondering about unfinished conversations and kisses grown cold by death, and never ever knowing if I would have loved Peter. And wondering if maybe, just maybe, he loved me…

"I've had friends go over to Viet Nam." I say at last. "One of them never came back."

Blue eyes full of sympathy, Ducky reaches out, touches my shoulder, gently squeezes it. "I'm so sorry, Celeste." His touch sends a small shudder thorough me, a tiny electric pulse. There is more behind this kind gesture. I feel it.

I place my hand on his as it rests upon my shoulder. "Thank you. Ducky." And I don't feel that he is just a doctor to me anymore. God knows I don't want him to be!

Now the orderly comes in with a wheelchair. Ducky scribbles away on my chart, hangs it on the back of the chair and helps me down off the examination table. He is gentle as his hand slides around my waist, lingers just the tiniest bit longer than necessary to be sure I have my balance. I settle into the chair. He sets my leg on the footrest and extends it outward. "Off to x-ray now," he says cheerfully. "Once I check those pictures over, I'll be able to do a proper assessment."

The orderly wheels me to the elevator. We get on. Ducky watches the doors close. I hope I can see him again soon. Away from the hospital. Away from his profession. To discover the real Ducky would be quite wonderful, I think. Because he simply can't be the stick-in-the-mud he seems to be – wants others to think he is. There is somebody FUN under there somewhere. I know it!

X-ray is grueling – sit there in an unnatural position and DON'T MOVE! A lead apron over my abdomen so my uterus doesn't fry or whatever. I get asked about six times whether or not I am pregnant. That would be some achievement. How many ways can a person say "no" for crying out loud? Which is precisely why I am not pregnant. "No" slides easily from my lips.

By the time they are done, I am tired and cranky and in more than a little pain. And yet I must wait. A genuine emergency has rolled in and Ducky and the other available doctors on staff are dealing with it. I am placed in a tiny room with a dreadful, ancient hospital bed, given a hospital gown and a few moments of privacy to change into it. A nurse then helps me climb in, covers me with a thin, scratchy blanket and elevates my right leg to the point of ridiculousness. I'm not comfortable and still hurting. I wonder why they haven't given me anything to help with the pain.

"We're waiting on Dr Mallard, love," says one of the nurses. "He had an emergency. He'll be along shortly."

I'm convinced that hospitals are designed with two purposes in mind: to care for sick people and to be the least efficient waiting areas for people who are hoping for treatment.

"Celly?" It is Ollie, the only human being I will ever allow to call me that. The dear thing always knows when I'm miserable and generally has sense enough to steer clear of me. But I'm glad for his company and concern, and I beckon him into the room.

"You okay?" he asks sheepishly.

"Yeah. I will be. I'm in love with the doctor. How are you?"

"Coming down. Feeling the hangover starting behind my eyes. Will feel like crap in the morning."

I grin. "Good!"

"Ever sympathetic and nurturing, aren't you, Celeste?"

"Well, if it hadn't been for you and Ron…"

"…you wouldn't have met Doctor Gorgeous," Ollie finishes. "So you should thank us."

"Thank you? You'll have to wait for the movie, pal!" I stick out my tongue at him.

He laughs. "You will forgive us, Celly. You always forgive us." He hugs me. My dear old Teddy Bear Ollie always knows when I need a hug, always knows when I need a laugh, always knows we will always be best friends, no matter what.

I could never feel "that way" about Ollie because he could never feel "that way" about me. It's never been physical attraction between us – just the intimacy of friendship. I know Ollie doesn't find girls attractive. And I don't think that's odd because, well, it's just Ollie.

"So let me guess." I say, "Ron and Viv have found a dark corner somewhere?"

Ollie grins. "Oh YES! Good thing we're in a hospital 'cause they're giving each other tongue tonsillectomies."

"Ewww – Oliver!" But I laugh anyway.

Ollie gives me an appraising stare. "I don't know, Celeste. I bet there is a doctor here that you wouldn't mind have perform that operation on you!"

I feel my cheeks turn to flame. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Oliver Johnston has rendered me speechless!

He grins. "Thought so!" He leaves in time to avoid the sandal aimed at his head. It bounces off the doorjamb and plops to the floor.

I hate Ollie sometimes. Especially when he's right!

Close to half an hour passes. I discover that there is no position I can get into that is truly comfortable and that this blanket has absolutely no heat-retention capability. I am freezing to death in the middle of a hospital!

Then Ducky comes in. He looks frazzled and even more tired. But he has a big, beautiful smile for me and I start to feel warmer instantly.

"They expect me to sleep!" I complain. "How do they expect me to do that in a place like this?" I'm grumpy in spite of myself – I ache and I am bone-tired.

"Haven't they treated you well, Celeste? Are you in pain?" He looks at my chart, full of nurses notes from each time they've looked in on me.

I nod. "It feels like hundreds of bees crawling around inside my leg, buzzing and stinging."

He gives me an apologetic look. "My fault, I'm afraid. They've been waiting on me to tell them what to administer. I was about to set that up, but we had an emergency…"

I hold up my hand to halt the explanation. "I know. I heard."

Scratching on my chart again, he says, "I'm prescribing an anti-inflammatory as well as Darvon. That should ease the pain. It might also make you sleepy, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Rest is good for you and you look completely done in." He reaches over, brushes my bangs away from my face. His finger traces down my cheek. He cups my chin in his hand.

My heart has certainly stopped. I feel my cheeks start to redden. Again!

It's now or never, Celeste. Time to give a little back.

"Interesting bedside manner you have, Doctor Mallard." I don't have any idea if my smile reflex is working or not, but I try. Then I take his hand in mine, lace the fingers together. I'm sure I must be shaking, but he doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't pull away. Just squeezes my fingers ever so lightly, runs his thumb gently across the back of my hand, stares at our joined hands with the slightest of smiles.

"Hey, Celeste!" Ollie is standing in the doorway, looking like he just woke up. "Are they keeping you overnight? If they are, we'll head back to the flat. God only knows that Vivian and Ron have to consummate their undying love. Again. I'd rather sleep in your room so I don't have to hear it." He finally focuses on the tableau before him. He smirks. "Whoa! What is with this place? Did some kind of sex-gas get released into the atmosphere?"

The little jerk! I feel my blood rise again, this time because I'm more than a little annoyed. I grab the pen out of Ducky's pocket and hurl it at him. "Get out of here, Ollie! Under control! Okay?"

He turns his most sympathetic expression toward Ducky. "Doc, you have no idea. Just NO idea what you're in for."

"Maybe he doesn't Oliver, but YOU do! Once I get my hands on you, you are so much dead meat…!"

"Celly, in your current state, even I can outrun you."

"Just go home, Ollie. And take the love-birds with you." I have just about had it with my so-called best friend.

But he isn't finished with Ducky. Oh, no. He has to have the last word. Ollie informs the beautiful Doctor Mallard that he shouldn't expect a replay of Viv and Ron. That I'm not a PK of easy virtue. That I'll definitely let him know when he's crossed the line. That he feels sorry for Ducky having to learn this the hard way, but there's no other way but my rules.

Then the Ollie makes a face at me and finally leaves.

Ducky looks baffled. "PK? What's a PK?"

"Pastor's Kid. My father is a Lutheran Pastor." That surprises him, I think, because he pulls away slightly, but it is a half-hearted attempt. He runs his thumb across the back of my hand again and I feel that wonderful electric pulse travel up my arm.

"I attend a Lutheran college at home. Both Vivian and Ron are PK's though Ollie is not. He's only been my best friend since sixth grade where we attended the same Lutheran grade-school. You have just experienced an infestation of Lutherans, Doctor. May you live to tell the tale!"

He gazes into my eyes, looking thoughtful. Something is going on inside Donald Mallard that I will never be privy to. He is piecing together a puzzle, clearly enjoying the challenge it seems, by the quirk of his mouth. I think he likes puzzles. I hope I'm not too much of one – just…enough.

"You will have to explain that one to me sometime. We don't have many Lutherans here, given the fact that Henry VIII started his own Reformation for his own reasons. It was at least as unpopular as the German one."

"More so, I suspect." I reluctantly pull my hand away from his.

"I need to look at those x-rays now. And I'll have someone bring you your medication. Once I've had a look at the pictures, I'll know what to do with you."

"Oh, you already know what you'd LIKE to do with me." I wince internally. What a stupid thing to say!

He blushes a bit. "Just rest, Miss Porter. I'll be back soon with my assessment." He leaves the room quickly.

I've blown it. I know it. It's over. Before it even started, it's over. At least I'll be in a hospital when I die…

A nurse gives me a shot of some kind and also gives me some oral medication she says is an anti-inflammatory. She brings me an extra glass of water and helps me to the bathroom. She is really quite nice, young and pretty – probably Doctor Mallard's type.

She helps me settle back into bed. I'm starting to feel a bit woozy but I intend to stay awake. Doctor Mallard is my attending physician. He has to come back to see me. Maybe I'll be able to get a phoenix to rise out of these ashes. If I can keep my wits about me. Though they seem to be slipping a bit…It doesn't hurt as much though…

Ducky is back in the room, standing next to my bed, smiling, but far away, somehow. No! I'm not falling asleep! Not now. Maybe he's forgiven me. Maybe he's going to tell me how badly I'm hurt. Maybe he saw that cute nurse…

"Hi, Doctor Ducky," I muster.

"How's the pain level? Better?"

I nod. "Hmmm." I feel drool sliding out the side of my mouth. Now I'm sure that nurse is going to be asked out to dinner as soon as he leaves the room… "Sleepy though." I have nothing to lose by telling the truth.

"I told you that would happen."

"You said it MIGHT!"

I hear him snort. You can have him, Little Miss Nursie…

"Well, it did make you sleepy. So go with it. Sleep. I'm going to wrap your ankle now. Stay with me long enough to let me know if it hurts or feels too tight. You'll need some pressure but you also need circulation, so I need to know…"

"I get it, Ducky. I'll let you know."

His touch is sure and gentle. And doing things to me that, well, maybe it's a combination of the sedative and, I don't know – his all-round sexiness? I have no resistance, damn it. Good thing I'm in a hospital or Daddy would have me locked away in a Rapunzel tower. And me with short hair…

"This is very badly swollen, Celeste. Did you hear or feel anything especially unusual when you twisted the ankle over?'

"Yes. There was a 'POP.' It was right where the foot and the leg – that joint there, the outside of it…" I can't make myself make sense anymore. No words will form.

"I thought as much. That indicates a slight tear to the tendon. You'll have to keep the ankle pressure bandaged for awhile and not put weight on it for about a week or so. Crutches are in order for you, Miss…"

I think he must be talking through water and glass…far away and nothing makes sense.

I think I feel his hand brush my hair away from my face. I think I feel a very soft kiss on my cheek.

I think I say, "Good night, Doctor Ducky."

But nothing makes sense…

This morning all my friends have come to retrieve me, along with Mrs. Hardwicke, our housemother. If the college knew how liberal she is with her living arrangements, they'd probably fire her. But we love her. It's nice having a Mother Hen who doesn't cluck around too much, but who's always there when we need her.

And I need her now. Ducky just told me I can't work for at least three weeks. I can't do that! I need the money. I need my scholarship. I'm not sure he understands how much, though I try to explain.

Mrs. Hardwicke assures me everything will be all right. She pats my arm and makes me feel at least somewhat better. And Ducky seems sympathetic, too, but doctors are supposed to be.

I wonder where he's taking that little nurse for dinner.

"Before they whisk you away from me…" Ducky says. Huh? Did I just hear a little regret there? He continues, "I should give you a lesson on these crutches. I'm afraid they aren't the right size. The shorter ones seem to have been signed out. So you'll have to make do with these until the right ones become available. Sorry."

I have my left sandal on. It has virtually no heel and the soles are quite thin, so standing, I notice there really isn't much difference between my height and Ducky's. I like being able to look someone in the eye. And not to stand on tiptoe when we…Well, I can't stand on tiptoe right now anyway.

Why do I insist upon dwelling on the impossible?

Ducky adjusts the crutches as best he can but they are still too tall and very hard to walk with. I sigh, slightly frustrated as he hands the crutches to Ollie and helps me settle into the wheelchair that will take me to Mrs. Hardwicke's car.

"I'll see that you get the right crutches sent round to you as soon as possible," Ducky says to my back.

I turn around slightly. "Thank you!" He is standing in the corridor in front of my room. He looks like he's lost something.

I have a feeling that I probably look the same.

Already my immobility is driving me up the wall. I can't go out. I'm missing class, even though Vivian will bring copious notes – she's the best note-taker I know – for me to copy. "The Romantics – A Perspective" is one of my favorite classes and I hate not being there.

Ollie doesn't have classes today but he does have to go to work later. He and Ron both work as busboys at the Martinside, one of the classier hotels in London. Ron pulled the breakfast/lunch shift while Ollie will work high tea and dinner later today.

"Hey Celly. Want to practice?" Ollie stands in the sitting room, holding my guitar.

I hop out of the kitchen on one leg. I just can't use those crutches. I hope the right ones are sent over soon. "Sure. It'll be a distraction." I settle down on the couch and prop my leg up on the crate that has been designated for that purpose. We noodle around, practicing chords. My hands are small so it's sometimes hard to make the stretch, but I'm getting better. Ollie segues into "Helplessly Hoping" by Crosby, Stills and Nash. It's not an easy song and I'm reduced to rhythm most of the time, but we sing anyway. Sounds better in three part harmony, but we manage.

The doorbell rings.

Ollie opens the door. "Hi, Doc!" He turns around to look at me, grinning. "Hey, Celly. Guess who's here?"

My mouth goes dry. "Illya Kuryakin?" I hope my voice isn't as shaky as I feel.

"His doppelganger. Your fantasy man." He steps aside, allowing the beautiful Doctor Mallard to enter.

Oh, God! He's standing in my living room with a pair of crutches. And a rose? Stunned, I realize he really came to see ME. He doesn't care how young I am, how badly I behaved in the hospital. He came to see me. And I start blushing all over again!

"Hi." I finally manage. "I'm feeling much better."

"Good." He just stands there, staring, a sweet half-smile on his lips, clutching the crutches and the yellow rose.

I AM in love with this man. I know this. This knowledge is a gift from heaven to hold in my heart.

"Please sit down."I point to the under-stuffed gawd awful armchair we like to call The Chair That Eats People. But it's all we have besides the couch which is currently my perch and Ollie's guitar stand. Poor Ducky sort of falls into it rather gracelessly and the chair swallows him.

Ollie picks up his twelve-string and sits down next to me. "We were just jamming," he says to Ducky. "I'm teaching Celeste how to play. She's doing pretty well, too but she already knew a little. Want to hear a bit?"

"Ollie!"

"You're fine, Celly. You need to have other people hear you. You can't be timid if you want to make 'Still Small Voices' next year when we get back to campus."

"Still Small Voices?" Ducky obviously isn't sure what that means.

"It's a singing group sponsored by the college," Ollie explains. "It has six members. I already have a position waiting that I earned last semester. One of the seniors will be leaving the end of next year and Celeste's voice is perfect for it. But she's going to have to play a bit, so I'm giving her a hand. And she's doing great!"

I shrug. "If you say so, Ollie."

"Let's do 'Scarborough Fair'. Don't worry. I'll take lead, just harmonize."

We run through a stanza so I can get my bearings. Ollie looks at me, nods and we start singing together. I love singing, especially with Ollie. Our voices compliment each other well.

Ducky sits, transfixed. "That was fantastic!" he says when we finish, his smile wide, his eyes only on me.

"Thanks," I reply. "But I messed up in a couple of spots."

"And you kept going! That's the important thing!" Ollie pats my shoulder, looking like the proud papa.

I can't think of anything to say. I wish I could tell Ducky how happy I am that he's here. I think of how I want to feel his arms around me, just have him sit and hold me, stroke my hair…

Stop it, Celeste! Don't even think it!

Ducky looks uncomfortable in the Chair That Eats People. He's squirming just a bit.

"Umm…did you sit on something, Ducky?" I finally ask.

He hauls himself out of the chair, looks down at the cushion to find the remnants of a yellow rose.

"Oh, shit!" He says it just loudly enough to be heard.

I burst out laughing. "Oh thank you, God. Thank you for showing me he's human!" I fall over onto the sofa. "I've heard of 'thorn in the flesh' but never 'thorn in the butt.' It seems to make a certain amount of sense, though."

Ollie joins in the laughter and collapses on top of me. "Wonder if he'll need to go to emergency for a thorn-ectomy!"

"Too bad Viv's not here," I giggle. "She'd happily check your butt for damage."

"I'll do it!"

"No way, Oliver!" I shove him away from me, "I saw him first!" I grin at Ducky. "We always fight over boys!"

Ollie turns three shades of red. "Celly!"

I wince inwardly, knowing what I've revealed. But Ducky takes the information without batting an eye. No shock or discomfort. Just like it was a normal part of the day. "It's okay, Ollie. He's a doctor. He understands all about these things. Right, Doctor Ducky?"

He looks at Ollie calmly. "Of course."

Ollie's shoulders sag. "Well, you and Celly are the only ones. I could be expelled from school if it got out." I've upset him and I'm sorry. I give him a little hug.

"It will go no farther than this, Oliver. I promise you." Ducky's reply is grave and sincere. He is so full of goodness, of kindness – his deepest soul is gentle.

I squeeze Ollie's hand. "Hey, Ol. What's to eat? We really ought to offer something to our guest."

Ducky holds up his hand. "No need. I just stopped by to drop the crutches off. I'll retrieve the others and be on my way." He smiles a bit sheepishly.

This has the effect of activating my infallible Bullshit Meter. Not that the alarm hadn't already started to buzz, but now it was ringing – loudly. "Sure," I cross my arms. "That's why you stopped by all right. With a rose."

His eyes widen, then turn playful. "Well, if you want it, then here it is!" He holds out the utterly ruined flower. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!

I hold out my hand to take it. "I will treasure it always."

He hands it to me and I get lost again in those crystal-blue eyes, bottomless pools that take me in and spin me around with no hope for escape. I do not wish to leave them. I want to stay in those depths forever.

"It's pretty hopeless," he says as I take the rose, as breath returns, as his hand brushes mine as the exchange is made.

I did not come to London to fall in love. But I have. All else is secondary.

"Oh," Ducky says, "I found this in your room after you left." He holds out my right sandal.

"My sandal! Thank you, Mr. Charming. Or is that 'Doctor Charming?'" I grin.

"Only if the shoe fits, Celeste." Ducky grins right back at me. "Which I suspect it doesn't at the moment."

I shrug. "Right. But there ARE the New and Improved crutches. Why don't we give 'em a try?"

I hold out my hand and he takes it to help me up. I'm a bit unsteady on one leg and his arm slides around my waist protectively. I feel the warmth of his hand on the small of my back, feel it travel lightly over my hip, feel him gently tug me a bit closer, almost too close and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. I gulp, stiffen my spine involuntarily. But I want this. I want this so badly I can't listen to the little voice that warns me against it. That means nothing now. This is meant to be. I lean slightly into Ducky's half embrace. He smells of spice and wood smoke.

"Give me a second to grab the crutches," he says as he lets me go.

I am balancing on one leg, a flamingo in cut-off shorts covered with patches and embroidered appliqués. He sets the crutches under my arms and notices the hand-grips are off.

"Won't be a second…" He takes out some sort of multi-functional Army knife that has a screwdriver on it. He starts adjusting the grips.

Ollie is fascinated. "Cool knife." The dear boy is as drawn to gadgets as an ostrich is to shiny objects.

Ducky grins. "Standard Army Medical Corps issue. But you're right. It's very cool."

It would seem that my two boys have made a connection.

Ducky sets me up with the now perfectly adjusted crutches. He places his hand on my back again as he explains what I should do. "Ready for a test-run, Celeste?"

I take a few tentative steps forward. His face beams encouragement, so I continue to move ahead, toward the kitchen. It is still awkward, but far easier than dealing with the other crutches. I move about gracelessly, but I am moving about with more ease and a bit more confidence than I had earlier.

Several circuits around the kitchen table and I re-enter the sitting room to applause.

"Well done, Celeste," says Ducky.

"Oooh! Applause for nothing special. I could get used to this!"

"You are very special, Celeste."

I stop inches from him. There is practically no difference in our heights at all. I'm looking directly into his eyes, his unpretentious smile. I let go of the crutches and reach toward him. At the same time, I find myself in the circle of his arms. And I am in his kiss and he is in mine. We melt together. Time has no meaning as we drink each other in.

His mouth is soft and warm. I part my lips slightly and he immediately accepts the invitation offered as his tongue slips in and I shudder from the electricity of the sensation. He isn't hesitant, knows where his hands should go as he slides them under my shirt.

"Ummm," a voice from some distant place intrudes on this heaven. "How's about I see you two later." It is Ollie, clearly aware that he does not belong here.

I pull away from Ducky just long enough to say, "Later, Ollie."

Now that we are truly alone, Ducky lifts me off my foot and carries me to the sofa, kissing me all the while, running those gifted hands through my hair and over my body. We settle down with me draped across his lap. He gently cups his hand on my breast over my blouse. I gasp at the pleasure of his touch. He breaks the kiss, looks at me with sapphire eyes full of passion.

He moves his hand under my shirt once again, sliding it sensuously over the bare skin beneath, setting off mad little sparks of friction and desire in me. As he nears my naked breast I freeze. The little voice of conscience has intruded telling me this is happening too fast.

And I agree with her. This is too fast, too soon. Even though I know I want to take this journey with Ducky I also know that now is not the time.

He stops.

"Don't get me wrong, Ducky," I whisper. "I'd really like you to. But I don't think I'm ready yet." I kiss him again, deeply and with new-found confidence and he responds without hesitation.

We finally break apart. "We have all the time in the world," I say as he kisses my neck.

"That's right, Love." He kisses my cheek. "All the time in the world." He gently pushes my head back so I can look at him.

"Celeste." He breathes my name softly into my ear as he nuzzles it. "My sun, my moon and all the stars in heaven."

It is then I know he loves me too. That he will always love me.

He is beautiful. And I shall marry him.

18


End file.
